The escape from Bruglia: part 2

A very long walk

The Triverse is
Mid-Earth, an alternate 1980s 1970s London
Max-Earth, a vision of the 26th century
Palinor, where magic is real

Previously: An arrest warrant has been issued for Detective Lola Styles. She’s on the run, accompanied by her partner, Princess Daryla.

The Bruglia Wastes.
3202. Frostfall.

They’d been on the road for days. The Bruglian Wastes were so-called for good and obvious reasons, with vanishingly few real settlements outside of the sprawling city itself. There were plateaus and there were canyons, with caravans snaking their way along and through both.

Travelling across the tops of the mesas and following the networks of bridges was more direct, simpler and generally safer, at least in terms of unpleasant encounters. It was also the fastest way to run out of water, and to bake in the sun. The latter was less of an issue during frostfall, but cooler did not mean any less dry.

The alternative, descending into the shadows of the canyons, made for a more winding path. The gaps between the mesas formed a maze that was impossible to navigate for anyone unfamiliar with the territory or without a good map. The canyons often narrowed to slender ravines, ideal for ambushes and robberies. There were frequent choke points. It was also the only way to find occasional running water, with some gorges still holding the last trickle of the river that had once carved them.

Daryla had insisted on going low.

Lola tried to imagine she was merely hiking in Wales, or across the craggy landscape of Northumberland. She envisioned trees and grasses in place of dust and sand, saw mosses blanketing the rocks and climbing up the walls, while waterfalls poured from above. The sort of holiday she’d loved as a child.

That wasn’t the Bruglian Wastes. The Bruglian Wastes were dry, hot in the day, near-freezing at night, and entirely unforgiving. Daryla hunted when she could, affording them a sinewy lizard or tough-fleshed snake. During the day she was able to kill them with a gesture, a simple spell that closed a vital artery or airway. No wonder the gangs had feared her, and that she’d wielded such power and respect in Bruglia.

All of that, Daryla had given up to accompany her into the wilds. There had been no indication that she would be implicated, and could have stayed behind living her opulent life of travel and diplomacy and orgiastic parties, but she’d abandoned it all to be with Lola.

Of course, it didn’t escape Lola’s notice that the blame could also be placed firmly at Daryla’s feet. The so-called evidence that had been pinned on the SDC crew was intrinsically tied to Daryla’s underground railroad. That they’d been framed wasn’t the surprise — Lola had expected something like it for months — but that she’d helped to set the stage was agonising. After she’d found out about Daryla’s foolish involvement she’d worked with the city guard to crack down on the remnants of the gang. It had been a risk, but nobody would believe any of the gang members if they brought up Princess Daryla’s name. Clearly it had still given someone an idea, one of the conspirators at the heart of Bakker’s investigation.

None of it mattered any more. The SDC was gone, in as much as it mattered. The others were likely under arrest, pending some kind of showtrial. Lola had escaped, but to what purpose?

“You know,” she said to Daryla as they trudged along a wide, dried-out canyon, “under other circumstances I’d be loving this.”

Daryla wiped the sweat from her forehead, spreading a line of dust and dirt. “How is that, exactly?”

Lola spread her arms wide. “Adventure! On an epic journey across Palinor. It’s everything I always wanted.”

“I love the way you say the word ‘adventure!’ Nobody on Palinor says it like that.”

“See,” Lola said, jabbing a finger, “you all take it for granted. Palinor is a land made for questing. You don’t get that kind of thing on Mid-Earth.”

“What sort of thing?”

“Grand landscapes! Epic tales!”

“You likely were living in the wrong place, darling.”

“Fair point,” Lola said, shrugging. “London is London.”

“Everything becomes normal if you live it long enough.”

On they went.

They stumbled upon a merchant encampment at a crossroads, a semi-permanent oasis of sorts where the caravans convened to resupply, rest weary bones and catch up on the latest news from Bruglia as well as the regions beyond the Wastes.

“We need more of everything,” Daryla said, pulling her mask up a little higher to obscure her face. “Our supplies were starting to get worryingly low in the last two days.”

Lola nodded. “I could do with some fresh underwear.”

Daryla smiled. “What sort of place do you think this is? It’s not one of your supermarkets, with discount clothing.”

“You never know,” Lola said, throwing her an admonishing scowl. She’d been camping during her teenage years, but the truth was that Daryla had been keeping them alive on the long walk from the city. It had become obvious even to Lola that their water was being rationed, and she’d started to notice the weight she’d lost from never quite eating enough. “Did you know this place was here?”

“I’d heard of it, didn’t know if it would still be here when we arrived.” Daryla pointed towards a row of stalls. “I’ll go and find us supplies. You go over the other side and scout out the caravans, see if any of them are heading south. We might be able to get a ride.”

The idea of resting her feet was deeply appealing, so Lola nodded and made her way across the site, all too aware of the sores on her soles. There were stalls and large market gazebos, all set up around a huge central tent that was erected below a wide overhang from the cliff and which appeared to be a makeshift tavern of sorts. Parked on the far side were lines of caravans, pulled by all manner of creatures: horses and camels she recognised, but there were Palinor-exclusive species as well: six-legged, reptilian, feathered, large and small. It was a menagerie of draft animals.

“Hello,” she said, approaching an aen’fa man that she presumed to be the leader of one of the convoys. “Where are you headed?”

The man looked up from the animal he was grooming, his face caked in sweat. “Ku ke ku o[[ What do you want?]]?”

He was speaking Pi’aian. Daryla had warned her that the further from the city they travelled, the less likely she was to encounter English. The official language of the Triverse only radiated so far from Bruglia. He’d asked her a question. In her time in Bruglia she’d picked up some vocabulary through osmosis, and had taken some classes when she’d scrounged the time.

“Wau onipa,” she said, hesitantly, in what she presumed was a terrible accent. Need travel.

The man frowned, looking at her as if she was an idiot. “Hai paupa hoha meni,[[ I am animal cleaner.]]” he muttered, then pointed down the row of animals and carts. “Ma o kanapa.[[ Talk to her]]”

Lola looked at where he indicated. There was a woman, human, perhaps in her fifties, sat on a folding deckchair, sipping a cocktail of some sort. She raised the glass, then waved at Lola.

“Why are you talking to my animal handlers?” The woman sized Lola up as she approached. “And how long have you been walking? Your shoes are a mess, deary.”

“You speak English,” Lola said.

“I do,” the woman grinned, “well done for noticing. And I notice that you have a very interesting twang indeed. Not from around these parts?”

“I travel a lot.”

“I bet you do. What’s your name, girl?”

“Lucy.” They’d agreed on new names to use while on the road, just in case word of the arrest warrant had travelled ahead of them.

“Well, isn’t that lovely. I’m Jacinda. What can I do for you today? Looking for work?”

“Looking for travel. Perhaps a lift, depending on where you’re going.”

Jacinda nodded and displayed a wide array of teeth as she smiled broadly. “So you’re looking for work. Wonderful. Can always do with a few more hired hands. A few always drop off along the way, if you know what I mean.”

They’d have to pay for travel, one way or another, though Lola couldn’t help but think that Daryla would be better placed to barter. “Which direction are you going in?”

“Not towards Bruglia, so you can forget about that.” Jacinda shifted in her chair, its metal legs straining a little. She pointed to one of the canyon exits. “We’re headed down that way, south-west until we hit the edge of the Wastes. Then we’ll be turning west and heading for the coast. Any good for you?”

“It might be. What’s the cost?”

“Are you a fighter?”

“Not really. Though my friend—”

“If you’re not a fighter, then you can join your new best friend down there.” She pointed back towards the aen’fa cleaning the animal. “Keep the wheels turning, keep the wagons rolling. Make sure my animals are pulling. I’ve got cargo that needs to be places. You help me with that, I’ll help you get away from whatever it is you’re getting away from.”

“I’m not trying to get away from anything—”

“I wasn’t born yesterday, so don’t patronise me. We leave at sun up. If you want to join us, be early.”

That had been easier than expected. Success on her first inquiry. Daryla would be pleased.

“One other question,” Lola said.

“One more, than get out of my sun.”

“Do you know if there’s somewhere here that might sell clothes?”

“Course there is,” Jacinda said, snorting loudly. “People who show up here after a long journey have needs. In this order: drink, food, sex, sleep, and then a fresh pair of panties and shoes that aren’t going to cut your feet to ribbons.” She shifted again in the seat and rolled her eyes. “Damn. What do you think us merchants are, savages?”

Photo by Justin Luebke on Unsplash

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Thanks for reading.

How’s your week been?

The weather’s turning here. After an unusually long and pleasant summer, the wind is up, the rain is here, the nights are colder. School is only a week and a half away, with my son starting high school. I feel the passing of time more acutely with each year, it seems.

This time next week I’m doing a webinar with the lovely folks over at Scrivener, all about using Scrivener for serial fiction. More info on that and their other upcoming sessions here:

August 2024 Scrivener Webinars ✍️ + Guest Author — Simon K. Jones

It’s free to attend and should be a good time.

There was some news this week that Disney have cancelled The Acolyte after one season. My 11 year old was very sad, as it was his favourite Star Wars thing for a while. It did make me think again about the inherent risks of cancelling a serial mid-way: aside from the immediate annoyance to the people enjoying the show, it also undermines future investment in that creator’s stories.

There’s a limit to how many times you can fail to complete a serial before audiences lose faith and don’t bother to even start watching or reading. In some ways, the most important element for a long-term successful writing career is actually finishing stuff, especially if you’re in the business of publishing serials. There’s less risk to not finishing a normal book, because nobody needs to know of its existence until it is already finished. A serial is already out in the world, whether it’s the first season of a TV show or several chapters of an online serial novel, and you will be judged for non-completion.

This is why I rarely watch Netflix shows. Netflix has trained me to not invest my time.

At the same time, for the sake of your mental health, it’s not like you can plough on if you’re not enjoying the writing process. And, practically, it’s difficult for a studio to keep producing an expensive show if it’s not getting the viewers.

Being cautious and not jumping into projects unless you’re very, very confident that you’re in it for the long haul is perhaps the only way to go.

Author notes

Lola’s journey continues. This is the sort of storyline that is quite flexible in terms of length: I’d planned to feature more of the journey in this chapter, but it didn’t take long to reach my average word limit. More to come next week.

This week I returned to the Vulgarlang tool. It’s a system for generating fictional languages based on particular linguistic rules. I’m not going to pretend that I really understand much of it, but it is very useful for auto-translating into the fictional Palinese languages. You can generate a new language based on specific criteria, then save it for future use.

One quirk was that this was the first time I’ve recorded a chapter voiceover that required me to speak the made-up language. That was trickier than I expected.

The story at the moment is focusing on Lola, of course, and her endless optimism. Even given the circumstances, she’s still keeping a positive outlook. We’ll see just how resilient that is, and how long it can last. Remember, there’s five years to fill in between now and where we are with Clarke and the others.

The other aspect here is Lola’s hunt for normality: her need to find some clean clothes. It’s very British, in a way. If she can just have a cup of tea, she’ll be fine, no matter what else is happening.

Thanks again — more next week.